


Simon Snow and The Golden Hare

by catsandladyluck



Category: Carry On - Fandom, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Based on a Dream, Fangirl, M/M, Rainbow, Revamping this fic hopefully, Simon Snow and The Golden Hare, SnowBaz, carry on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsandladyluck/pseuds/catsandladyluck
Summary: Simon Snow's final year at Watford holds bittersweet memories and unexplainable mysteries. Will he ever see his friends again after this year? Will his sinister room mate ever stop plotting against him? Why on earth are parts of the school suddenly disappearing? And what the fuck is this golden hare that no one else can see?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was inspired by a dream I had about being Simon Snow and chasing a golden hare through Watford.  
> It takes place in a somewhat parallel 8th year, where Baz doesn't get kidnapped, and the gang isn't worried about taking down the humdrum.  
> (Please note that there will be random events and conversations that also transpired in the book.)  
> (Ratings/characters may change as the story progresses.)
> 
> Update: This fic is being revamped. Please bare with me (:

**Prologue**

 

Watford School of Magicks is home to many unexplained phenomenons. A staircase crumbles to pieces on its own. An entire tower vanishes in the middle of the night. A student is found turned to stone right inside their own bedroom. All of these occurrences are part of a series of strange events that have been continuing throughout the centuries; all unwitnessed, of course, except by the school’s weathered walls. 

The walls of Watford hold vast tales of every unexplained event that has transpired in their time. These stories are whispered from the corners of hallways and across the railings of staircases. The words ricochet off the windows and cast up into the towers. At night, when the floorboards are settling, the answers of the past can be heard amongst the creaks and groans, and the warnings of the future are whistled against the ceilings. But no one can hear them. Because no one is listening. The sounds swirl and become lost in the school’s busy atmosphere. And even  _ magickal _ walls are unable to make themselves heard.

 


	2. The Golden Hare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing new here! (except some revising)  
> This chapter was originally chapter 1, but as I am revamping this fic, it's now chapter 2. Please enjoy (:

#  Simon

I’m back at Watford before anyone else this year. I had practically kicked open the door to our room, and now I’m standing in the middle of it, taking in the scent of old wood and dust. The usual scent has become musty over the summer, but I breathe it in anyway.

I drop my bags to the floor and glance over at Baz’s bed. It’s empty, of course; I’m not sure why I was expecting otherwise. I thank Crowley he hasn’t come back yet. Being the first student back always means having the whole room (and kitchens) to myself. I generally look forward to it every year; although, the room seems to have a rather lonely feeling this time around.

I know why though. It’s eighth year, my final year at Watford. Every year before, I knew I would be coming back to this room again; coming back to my home. At the end of every summer, I look forward to this day. I get to, once again, see Penny, Agatha, the Mage, Ebb, the Great Lawn, the Wavering Wood, the teachers, the goats, Baz (although, I’m not sure why Baz is on this list. I never really want to see him). I get to eat sour cherry scones and Watford roast beef, wander and explore the school grounds, and just feel the magick all around me. But this is my final year. I don’t get to come back the next autumn. I don’t get to see or do any of those things on my list. It’s a sickening, sad feeling. And that’s why mine and Baz’s empty room feels so gloomy.

I step over my bags and stalk across the room to the windows. Maybe opening them will let out some of this sadness. I peer out through them, trying to catch a glimpse of any returning students, hoping none of them are Baz. He hates it when I open the windows. He says it’s because he’s always cold, to which I mentally add  _ Because you’re a vampire.  _ (I’m never actually able to say this to him. He doesn’t know that I know. And even if he did know, he hasn’t said anything about it.) 

When I don’t see him, I push open the glass and breathe in the crisp autumn air. It rushes so quickly into my lungs that I choke on it. It throws me into a coughing fit that unsettles the dust on the window sill, making the fit even worse. 

When I finally catch my breath and choke down the cough, I think about unpacking my bags. I’m about to step away from the window when something glimmering on the ground below catches my eye. It’s so small that I almost don’t make it out. I squint, then realize that it’s a very fat squirrel sitting next to a bush. A gold, shimmering squirrel. Squirrels aren’t usually that color, are they? And I’ve never heard of magickal squirrels before. But I suppose at Watford, anything is possible. We have dangerous, enchanted weeds that grow out around the Great Lawn that snap at unsuspecting students. So I guess a golden squirrel wouldn’t be too strange.

There’s a small scratching in the back of my throat from the dust settling back down, and I cough once again. This must have startled the squirrel because it hops forward away from the bush.

Oh. It’s not a fat squirrel. It turns out to be a rather large rabbit. A hare, actually. (I’m not even sure how I could mix up two very different animals. Baz would be sure to take the piss if he found out.) But suddenly learning that it’s a hare and not a squirrel doesn’t change the fact that it’s gold. And shimmering. Hares aren’t typically anything other than brown or black, let alone are they magickal creatures, I don’t think.

I debate about going downstairs to examine the hare up close when something else startles it and turns and bounds off into a hedge in the distance. I sigh as I watch it fade into the bushes. I suppose I didn’t feel like going down four flights of stairs only to have to come back up again, anyway. I turn around to begin unpacking when there’s a loud knock on the door.

I immediately panic, thinking that Baz was suddenly back. He would kill me if he came in to find I had already messed up the room and had the windows open. But then relief settles in me when I realize that this is also Baz’s room; he wouldn’t knock, just come right in. There’s another knock, and I hope it might be Penny.

“Come in,” I say. And I was right. The door swings open to reveal Penny, wearing her Watford uniform (cape, and all), and carrying a small box wrapped in blue ribbon. I smile instantly.

“You shouldn’t be able--” I begin.

“Oh, hush, Simon,” she says, immediately interrupting me. She already knew what I was going to say. I say it every year.  _ “You shouldn’t be able to do that,” _ I would comment on her ability to pass our house’s gender wards, to which she would respond with a shrug. Then I would say  _ “You shouldn’t even be able to come through the front doors.”  _ To which she would shrug again. During our fifth year, which was her sassiest year, she replied with an  _ “And yet, here I am.” _ But every other year had been the same shrug. This year, however, she didn’t even let me finish. It’s silly, but I’m going to miss this small tradition we’ve had.

“Don’t say hello, Simon,” she says as I start to open my mouth to speak. She begins to walk toward me, sidestepping my bags on the floor.

“Right,” I say, and I should have known better.  _ “Don’t say hello, Simon,”  _ she always says.  _ “Because then we’ll have to say good-bye, and I can’t stand goodbyes.” _ She says this every year, too.

“I brought you a cake,” she says, smiling as she hands me the box wrapped in blue ribbon. I immediately smile back, too excited for my own good. The next best thing to sour cherry scones is cake. Marble cake with buttercream frosting. It’s my favorite.

“It’s your favorite,” Penny adds, but she knows I already know what it is. I spring over to my bed and sit down with the cake. 

As I untie the ribbon on the box, Penny walks over and plops down on Baz’s bed. I freeze momentarily at this, wondering how she can just casually lay on his bed like it’s her own. I also wonder how Penny can just continue to get away with this every year, without Baz realizing it. Penny says that vampires have a powerful sense of smell, or at least, Baz does. He’s always complaining about my cinnamon-scented soap.  _ “Crowley, Snow, are you trying to give me a migraine? I can smell you from the hallway.” _ He complains after every shower I take.

“If Baz finds out you’re on his bed,” I say. “He’s going to kill you.”

She just snorts and waves her hand in the air. “Let him try.”

I roll my eyes at her and just continue to stare at Baz’s bed. Maybe he doesn’t have a powerful sense of smell. I mean, I can smell his cedar shampoo, even when he’s not in the room. The entire room always smells like it. Like him. I take in a deep breath, wondering if the scent was still here. It’s not, though. Of course, it’s not. Baz hasn’t been here in months. 

I purse my lips at this thought and then squinch my eyebrows into a disgruntled expression. Penny is staring at me now, I realize, and I relax my face again.

“What are you thinking about, Simon?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

I immediately regret the first word that comes out of my mouth. “Baz.”

Penny jerks her head to the other side and her glasses slump down her face. “Baz? You’re thinking about Baz?” Her face scrunches up into a somewhat puzzled look, but her eyes aren't showing any signs of confusion when she pushes her glasses back up.

I’ve always been bad with words, but never as bad around Penny. Something about her presence helps my words come easier. But in this moment, I struggle with them like I would if I was having an argument with Baz. 

“Er, not.. Not..  _ about _ Baz, really. Just,” I sigh, trying to push down the lump forming in my throat. “I just-”

Penny narrows her eyes and puts her hand up. “Don’t worry, Simon,” she says calmly. “Baz wouldn’t be able to hurt me if he tried.”

I sigh in relief, thanking Crowley I didn’t have to make up some terrible excuse about why I was thinking about Baz. I’m a terrible liar, and even worse at telling the truth. And Penny knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to the lovely Rainbow Rowell.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: @carryonsimoncarryon


End file.
